


Scar Tissue

by SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Battlestar Galactica - Freeform, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Mental Illness, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Fluff, Scars, Self Care, Self Harm Scars, frank talk about mental illness, mental illnss, red boxers, sam in his underwear, self love, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop/pseuds/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been trying to hide your depression and old scars from Sam, but to no avail. Request. FLUFF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Tissue

You'd been feeling down for a while now. It was nothing new to you. In fact, you'd been feeling good for so long, you'd known this was coming. You'd battled depression your whole life, and for the past few years, you'd been doing pretty well.

 

Dean had stayed behind for this hunt. He was nursing a hell of a hangover and had some half-coherent story about a threesome with a gymnast and a basketball player Sam hadn't apparently wanted to hear, so Sam had called you up to take out this lone vamp with him. You'd been seeing a lot of Sam lately- it was strange to find another hunter living in Lebanon, but you'd found him. And he'd been sticking pretty close to you for the last few months.

 

The sun was coming up over the horizon as you drove away from the ramshackle building that had used to house a grade-A asshole vampire. Used to. You'd both made quick work of him, burned the corpse and buried it. The early spring chill was warming, and you were worried. Long sleeves and darkness while making love had hidden what you wanted to be kept secret, but with the summer months approaching, you knew you couldn't keep your scars covered forever.

 

“Can I come to your place? I really don't want to hear about Dean and the gymnast AND the athlete. Not now. I'm tired.” Sam asked you, glancing over from his seat in the driver's side of the Impala. He looked good sitting there, in command of his brother's car. You nodded hesitantly. You really wanted to be alone. But you also really wanted to snuggle with Sam. He noticed your hesitation. “You okay babe?”

 

You started. He'd never used a pet name for you before. You kind of liked it; but misery descended. You knew when he found out about your illness he'd hightail it out of there. “Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Great.” You ran a hand through your hair, pulling it haphazardly into a bun. “Of course you can come over. We both need some sleep, and naps are better with company.” You forced a smile. Inside you were dying. You wanted to be in his arms, but without worry. But the worry was overwhelming.

 

He smiled and put a hand on your knee, and you scooted closer to him on the big bench seat and snuggled up under his arm as he drove to your place.

 

You lived in a small guest house behind a larger home. You both quietly crept through the creaky gate and up the stairs to your small stoop. You let yourselves in. Sam immediately began removing his dirty, bloodstained clothes, until all he was left in was a pair of red boxers. You flushed. He turned and noticed you staring. “Um... my clothes were dirty and... Y/N, are you sure you're okay?”

 

You shook yourself out of your stupor. You were in a state of panic. Every other time nakedness had been involved, it had been dark, you'd made sure of it. Sure, you'd seen Sam come and go from the bathroom naked, from showers and stuff; but it was light out, and you couldn't strip down. Not in the light.

 

You put on a brave face. “I'm fine Sam. Don't worry so much.” You replied ironically. “I'm just going to hop in the shower. Unless you want the first shower?”

 

Sam approached you, a small devious grin on his face. “We could shower together? We've never done that before.” His suggestion, while it should have been welcome, just made panic rise. No, no, no. You didn't have a ton of scars, but you had enough. He'd seen one one time, when your sleeve had hitched up. You'd told him it was a defensive wound from fighting a Djinn. If he saw both of your arms, and the notches on them, he'd bolt. You hadn't self harmed in years; but the scars were there forever, and it was a hard concept to explain.

 

Sam was standing in front of you, hands on your shoulders. “Seriously, Y/N, you're freaking me out. Something is wrong. Just tell me.” He looked dejected. “Do you want me to go?”

 

“No!” You replied defiantly. That was definitely NOT what you wanted. With all of your heart you wanted him to stay. You knew he wouldn't make your current bout of depression go away, but strong arms to hold you would at lest make it more bearable. “Listen, Sam, I... I have something I need to show you. And if you want to leave after that, you can.”

 

He gulped and looked down at you. “Um... okay.” He looked uncertain.

 

You sighed, a tear dripping down your face. You sat down on your small sofa, and he sat beside you. You slowly pulled up your sleeves, revealing little white lines all up your arms. He sat in silence for a while, taking it in. You finally had to say something. “They're all old scars. I haven't done it in a while.”

 

“So the defense wound explanation was...”

 

“A lie.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why? Because I was embarrassed. And you're the best thing that's happened to me. I didn't want to scare you off.” You looked at him incredulously. How could he ask you why?

 

“Oh Jesus.” He let out a sigh. You were ready. Ready for the speech and the leaving. But instead he surprised you. He wrapped his right arm around you, and his left hand felt it's way down your arm, across all of your scars. “Don't be embarrassed.” He reached up and held you with both arms. “You think you're the only one who feels like that?”

 

“I don't see any scars on your body... well, not ones you put there anyway.” You spoke, muffled into his arm.

 

“It doesn't mean I never wanted to.” He tilted your face up to look at him. “Listen. I'm not a stranger to depression either.”

 

“But you're strong.”

 

“So are you.” He held you close again. “You're still here, right? You're showing me this part of you? You have it under control?” You nodded into his shoulder. “We all falter. We all slip.”

 

“I've been feeling really down lately.” You admitted. “I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think it was your fault.”

 

“So all the long sleeves, all the insisting on turning out the lights... was just to hide this?” Sam asked. You nodded, and he kissed your head. “I know it's not my fault. Just like it's not your fault when I start hating myself.”

 

You pulled back from him. “So... you understand? You aren't leaving? And you don't think I'm ugly?”

 

He weathered the barrage of questions. “Yes, I understand way too well. And no, God, no I'm not leaving. And I think you're beautiful. The scars don't take away from that. Please don't make any more, but you're perfect to me.”

 

That's when the waterworks started. “I haven't made any more in three years. I try so hard every day not to.”

 

“That's why you're strong.” He pulled you close to his chest again. You sat there for a while, him smoothing your hair and rocking you gently. When your tears finally dried, you were still kind of shocked to find Sam, still in those damned red boxer briefs, sitting on your sofa.

 

“You really aren't leaving.” You commented, drying your eye on the he of your shirt.

 

“No, I'm really not leaving.” He looked at you seriously. “But I do still think a shower is in order. We're disgusting.” You eyed him wearily. “No funny business! I know being depressed isn't the time to put the moves on you. But, come on. A new experience.” He winked.

 

You giggled. “Naked in the daylight.” You thought about it for a minute. You could finally relax a little, knowing that Sam wasn't going anywhere, and he appreciated how hard you were working on your road to recovery. You took a deep breath. “Okay. Let's go.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Then we're snuggling up in blankets and binging on Battlestar Galactica the rest of the day.”

 

“Is that what you like to do when you feel down?”

 

“Yep. But it'll be nicer with someone to hold me.” You looked over at him questioningly.

 

“I'm not going anywhere. Battlestar Galactica it is.”

 

_Carry on my Wayward Daughter_

 


End file.
